No Fit State
by Aeschylus Rex
Summary: Seven years after her failed wedding, Sian Powers returns to Coronation Street as ill-prepared as ever for a chance encounter with her ex-fiance.


(Crosspost from AO3)

8.2.18

Right, so I feel like I should lead with some disclaimers:

1\. I am not a consistent watcher of Corrie. Like, sporadic at best, so I've ignored some of the recent 2018 plots here, specifically Aiden's suicide and Jack's leg.

2\. I am not Mancunian.

3\. I was too impatient to let my actual Mancunian beta reader finish reading this, so I will probably end up going back to fix stuff later.

Enjoy!

* * *

. . .

It's only just begun to rain as a silver Peugeot pulls up across from the bus stop on Rosamund Street. Dark clouds roll in on a stiff wind from the coast, promising a storm. Passersby put up the hoods of their raincoats and open their umbrellas, but Sian, dressed for the balmy London morning she'd left behind, shivers in her denim dress and huddles further into her old leather coat. She's only just turned up, and already she's cold.

The bleat of a horn steals her attention from the weather app on her phone. She glances up in time to see the driver's side window roll down.

"Sian!" her father hollers, beckoning from inside. "Come on! Get in!"

"Nice to see you, too," she mutters under her breath, but offers a friendly wave of greeting as she gets up from the bench with her luggage.

She stows her bags in the boot and slides in next to her dad, who gives her a tense sort of smile. His hair has gone more silver in spots and the lines in his face have gotten deeper. He's visibly aged since she saw him last, whenever that was. Perhaps the summer prior.

"All right?" he asks. "How was the trip?"

"Yeah, fine," she says easily. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

He shrugs. "I suppose you think I'm a nervous bloody wreck."

"Well, are ya?"

"Had a pint with me breakfast, didn't I?"

Sian arches a brow. "Handling it well then, I see."

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. "I'm absolutely brickin' it."

"Aw, that's totally normal."

"Oh, aye," he says, gruffly, rolling his eyes. "Well, let's get you home for tea."

The car rolls away from the kerb, and Sian finds her curious gaze straying off down Coronation Street. There's a blink of it, the row of brick houses, The Rover's, the corner shop, the Kabin, and then it's gone again as they pass under the bridge.

"You didn't have to pick me up, you know," she says after a minute. "I could've caught a cab."

"Yeah, but it's raining, and well, I was on my way home anyway. I just didn't want ya to think you wasn't welcome."

"Careful, Dad, or I'll think you missed me."

He glances sidelong at her. "Cheeky."

"I missed you, too, "Sian says, with a little smile, and turns her face back to the window.

It's weird to be back.

They've stopped off at the Freshco's on the way home, and Sian can't get over how much it's changed. The whole store's gotten a remodel. It's disconcerting. She can't really sort out why.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," her dad admits, leaning against the cart.

Sian doesn't acknowledge him at first. Her eyes wander over the myriad of milk options on the shelf, finally selecting a brand at random.

"Of course I came," she says neutrally.

"Well, it's just with the way things ended last time you were here, and...we haven't always been on the best of terms."

Sian shrugs. "That was all a long time ago."

"Right," he says, itching the stubble on his cheek. "Sure, okay. Well, I'm glad you could make it."

Sian tosses a little smile over her shoulder. All she's really felt so far is deju vu. She used to feel at home here. Now she doesn't. It's weird, but it's not bad per se. Everything that happened here seems like another lifetime ago.

Sian tries not of to think of it in terms of irony, but it's well hard not to. She left Weatherfield because of a wedding, and it's a wedding of all things that's finally brought her back. Her father's, to be exact. He's met a woman he loves, and it's going really well. His temper's still wicked sometimes, even when he tries to tamp it down, but there's nowt wrong with accepting someone as they are, faults be damned. Sian spoke with his fiance briefly over the phone. She sounds like the sort of woman who can handle herself.

Emma turns out to be a lovely redhead with a full frame, grass green eyes, and an abundance of freckles splashed across her kind face. No sooner have they stepped into the house than she welcomes Sian with a proper hug. There's no pretence or agenda on display. The sentiment is as genuine as it is charming.

"I'm delighted to finally meet ya," she says, and Sian, who is not without eyes, blushes.

Her dad nearly smacks the back of her head as she smiles prettily at the woman in front of her. "Pleasure's all mine."

"The hell it is," her dad growls. "Come on, Sian. Put the kettle on."

"But Dad-"

"Go on!"

He swats her away, and she rolls her eyes as she turns to head off to the cramped, old kitchen, the same as she remembers it save a new set of curtains and fresh coat of paint on the cabinets. Her dad's still a grump. Relations thawed between them years ago after the botched wedding with Sophie, helped along massively by his fiercely protective nature, but he's been slow in coming around to accepting who she chooses to date, and there remains a palpable tension between them.

"Listen here, you," he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen behind her, "I catch your eyes out on stalks one more time and I'm kicking you out on your arse."

Sian fills the battered red kettle from the tap, dribbling a bit of water on the sleeve of her jacket. "Right."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, all right." She rolls her eyes again. "Sorry."

"What did I do to deserve such a daughter?" he asks the ceiling, and sidles up beside her at the stove. "Talked to your mum lately?"

"A bit."

"And?"

Sian twists the dial to turn on the burner. "And what?"

He checks her shoulder. "Oi! Watch your tone."

Sian giggles and makes a comical show of covering her bum with both hands. "Mercy!"

"I can't believe this," he grumbles, but there's a smile hidden behind his glare. "Trying to make out like I'm the difficult one."

"Well, I'm not sure what you want me to say is all."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Just wondering if she'll come."

Sian's eyes widen. "To the ceremony?"

"'Suppose, yeah."

"Do ya want her to?"

Her dad shrugs and looks away. "Dunno. Might do."

"Well, it's a good job you have her number then, isn't it? You can call and ask."

This earns Sian another irate, but playful shove. "Fat lot of help you are."

He straightens up and reaches into the cupboard for a packet of crisps. His button up shirt is new and stiff, not worn around the collar. His graying hair is neatly trimmed away from his temples and ears. Even his shoes look polished. He seems happier. Certainly less scruffy.

"Can I help?" Emma asks from the doorway.

"Nah," Sian waves her off, "we've got it sorted."

Emma smiles in acknowledgement, but she doesn't leave, just leans against the moulding and watches them move around each other, hauling down plates and cups, fishing bits to eat out of the fridge. While the kettle heats, Sian grabs the dishes and carries everything out to the table. When she returns to the kitchen she catches her father kissing Emma on the lips. They look domestic and happy.

"Cheers, Dad," she says.

He grumbles, but Emma laughs, and Sian smiles, feeling light on her feet for the first time since her ignominious return.

. . .

. . .

The ceremony is planned for the last weekend of May and the weather is unpredictable, as usual. A mess of wind, rain, and sloppy puddles makes any sort of venturing out a treacherous affair, but her father's gone with Emma sorting out some last minute snafu with the cake and she'll be damned if she stays in the house another minute. Sian wanders the cobblestoned alleys on her way to a nearby Indian takeaway the following evening. She's careful to take the roads other people don't, if only to avoid running into those who might recognise her. The faces around the neighbourhood have been amicably curious so far, no one asks about Sophie, but the questions hang in their eyes like lanterns anyway.

Why are you back?

Have you seen her yet?

Sian hates it. Doesn't anyone have anything better to ask about? Perhaps where she ended up for Uni, or what she's made of her life since?

Despite her best efforts, however, she and Sophie do run into each other. It was likely unavoidable given the size of Weatherfield, though Sian had hoped to prolong the inevitable by staying away from Coronation Street. Sophie's so distracted chasing a young boy across the cobbles they nearly collide head first as she's leaving the shop. Sian's completely lost in her thoughts. She doesn't even register what's happened at first, only the hand of a woman steadying her shoulder. It takes a second for her to place Sophie's longer, leaner face beneath an unfamiliar fringe, and a second more to place the boy as Jack. When she does, Sian experiences a vicious flood of adrenaline. She has to physically hold herself back from throwing up right there on the cobbles. Sophie looks to be no better off as she struggles to find the words.

"Sorry," she manages, eventually, voice faint. "Wasn't minding where I was going."

"Yeah," Sian mumbles. "Me either."

Sophie clears her throat and forces some emotion onto her blank face. "So, you're back in town, then?"

Sian shifts awkwardly. "Er, yeah, just visiting. My dad's getting remarried."

"Right." Sophie glances down at Jack, who's been watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity. "I um, have to drop him off at home, but after that… pub?"

Absolutely not, Sian thinks, but a diffident "yeah, sure," escapes her mouth instead.

She could kick herself sometimes. Honestly.

Sophie smiles cautiously. "Do you need my number?"

"Not unless it's changed," Sian replies, and doesn't give a second thought to how it must've sounded until Sophie has already dragged Jack away down the street.

Sian groans helplessly, clutching her bag of food tighter in her hand. One day in and Sian's plan has shattered to pieces. Sophie's always been a sort of wrecking ball to her resolve.

. . .

. . .

Sian texts while she eats. The house is still empty, but her head is full, and the silence seems so loud she can barely stand it. Soon she has to get up and pace, try to think, try to sort herself out.

She reads the message that comes back from her roommate, Melissa, an American, who's not terribly reserved with her opinions.

 _oh my god! dont do it powers!_

Right. Well, not terribly helpful, that. Sian's already told herself that much.

She wrinkles her nose and clears her containers away. If she tries to remember the numbers to Sophie's cell she still can, with a bit of effort. She taps them out in her phone and stares at them until they begin to blur. Her thumb hits "Save" and she stares at that too until it prompts her to enter the contact details.

Sian can't bring herself to type out the full name, puts just "Soph" on the line and saves it. Once that's done, she opens a blank message.

 _where and when?_

She fires the text off and collapses back against the counter exhausted, as if she's just undertaken some herculean task and not sent a simple message to someone she used to know.

"Christ," she mutters, "this is ridiculous."

She can't shake the sinking feeling it's only going to get worse.

. . .

. . .

"I was a young idiot," Sophie says later, by way of explanation.

She's changed completely, but also not at all. Sian reels as she sips on a pint in a booth at The Rover's, feeling slightly like she's woken up in a parallel universe with a similar, but altogether different Sophie Webster sat across from her. It's disconcerting. She isn't sure how's she's meant to act.

"You alright?" Sophie prods, brows knitting.

They're thicker, Sian notes. Sophie used to keep them trimmer before, but the styles have changed just like the seasons, and Sophie looks older now with her classy fringe and tasteful clothes, more sophisticated, leaner, calmer, perhaps even a bit sadder. There were posts on Facebook and Instagram sometime back about a dead girl named Maddie. Sian marvels that she can feel jealousy, bitterness, and pity in the span of a single heartbeat.

Sophie reads the mixture of emotions on Sian's face and swallows thickly.

"Right," she says. "Sorry."

Sian polishes off the dregs of her beer and signals the barmaid for another. Silence falls over the booth. Sian twirls a silver ring around her finger. Sophie checks a message on her phone. It's awkward and terrible.

"Whatever came of things with Amber?" Sian asks when her drink arrives.

She already knows the answer, having kept in touch with Ryan some after leaving, but, god help her, she wants to twist the knife just a little.

Sophie rewards her cruelty with a visible flinch. "Nowt. Was just a bit of confusion, that's all."

"Oh, yeah, is that all? Was confused if you still loved me?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Right."

"It was just… Well, I could feed you loads of excuses, but the truth is I'd never had another girl try it on with me, and I took the bait. A young idiot, wasn't I? Throwing it all away for a bit of curiosity."

Sian blinks. Sophie's explanations are unexpectedly honest and measured despite the fact she's visibly regretful. Sian can't seem to wind to her up. Suddenly, she feels juvenile. What exactly is she doing here tossing petty words at her ex? If she was looking for answers, she's got them, but it's hardly a salve for old wounds.

"I wish you weren't so reasonable about all this," Sian says drily.

Sophie snorts. "Why, so we can fight?"

"Dunno. Might make me feel better."

"I think we've had enough rows to last a lifetime, you and me."

Sian smiles despite herself, then bites it away and hides her twisted expression behind the rim of her pint glass.

"Look, Sian…" Sophie trails off and sucks in a stabilizing breath. "I truly am sorry for what I did to ya. I swear down it's one of the biggest regrets of my life, and things have been well dramatic around here since you left so that's sayin' somethin'."

Sian stares into her drink. "Yeah. I heard about Maddie. I'm sorry."

"S'alright." Sophie averts her eyes. "It's not just her I was referring to. I haven't had much luck with things in general. Reckon it must be karma."

"That karma's a right cow," Sian says wryly.

"Yeah, cheers." Sophie smirks. "My life's been proper gossip fodder, yeah. Just straight away, like, as soon as you left I got hit by a flamin' car trying to save Ryan's dumb arse, then I accidentally got my physiotherapist sacked because me dad walked in on me trying it on with her in the living room."

"No, really?" Sian's brows fly up. "Gonna tell us how you managed that?"

"Yeah, might do," Sophie grins disarmingly, "but I need another cider first. Back in a tick."

Sian watches Sophie hop up to get the barmaid's attention, carding her fingers through long, dark hair as she leans over the bar. Sian's stomach tightens. A lot of time has passed and the pain's hardly fresh anymore. Perhaps, finally, it's time to put her grievances to rest, except there's a void there looming when she begins to loosen her grip, like a big, empty room with no furniture to fill it. A part of her was hoping Sophie would still be done up in knots, would still be 17 years old with a blistering temper and a streak of selfish immaturity running through her middle, but Sian's arrived to find a grown woman, contrite, armed with the power of hindsight, and ready to accept responsibility for her actions. It's thrown Sian for an absolute loop. She can't help but think, as she watches her ex-fiance, that somehow, even after all this time, she's let Sophie slip through her fingers, and when she leaves The Rover's that night to make the walk back to her dad's, she feels the chill on her skin more acutely than she has in months.

. . .

. . .

After falling out with Sophie, and then Chloe, Sian burned through a rash of girls in Uni before settling down to a calmer, more solitary life post graduation. These days, however, she's been seeing a lad, her first since Ryan back in secondary, and it's weird how easily she's slipped back into the role of demure girlfriend. Daniel's sweet, and she likes him, but it's dead hard sometimes trying navigate the nebulous, unspoken rules of heteronormativity. Men fix cars, watch football with their mates, and order pints at the pub, and she's meant to fix her makeup, go shopping with her friends, and drink white wine instead. It wouldn't bother her so much, as she does rather like all those things, except that it's all so rigid as to be almost claustrophobic. It's taken some getting used to.

 _"So, have you told your Dad yet?"_ Daniel asks.

He's a native Londoner and he sounds it, his accent made more obvious by the Manc that now surrounds her. Sian examines the nails on her free hand. She keeps them short out of habit, of course, but it's also become a tiny badge of resistance, the one part about her that's still visibly queergay.

"Nah," she says, into the phone. "He won't take it well, will he? He'll think I've finally seen the light, that I'm straight again or summat."

 _"So tell him you're not. It's simple as."_

"Except it isn't."

 _"Babe, you're bisexual, not an alien. It's not that complicated."_

"Yeah, well…" Sian trails off with a groan. "It shouldn't be, but it will be if I tell 'im. He's a bit full on, my dad."

 _"So, what, you're just gonna hide it? Is this what the gays feel like?"_

Sian rolls her eyes. "Oh yeah, suddenly you're such an expert."

Daniel makes a noise of vague impatience. _"Well, I just don't appreciate feeling like you're ashamed of me, yeah? Besides, you'll have to tell him sometime. It can't wait forever."_

Sian pauses at the mention of forever. "…Right… I'll um, wait for a good moment."

 _"Cheers, babe. Miss you. Are you sure you don't want me there for the wedding?"_

"I'm sure. Everything's a bit chaotic around here anyway," Sian says, glancing up at the empty living room. "I wouldn't have any time for ya."

 _"Yeah, but I don't mind. I'd just like to see you."_

"I know, but it's a family thing, babe, okay? I'll be back after the weekend and then you can pamper me all you like, all right?"

 _"Yeah, all right."_

"Got to go."

 _"Okay, love you."_

"Yeah, see you soon."

Sian hangs up and lowers her phone, staring at the screen for a moment. A day or two ago, talking to Daniel would've been a comfort, but all throughout the night and into the morning she's felt a void growing inside her, hollowing out her stomach, swallowing her bones. There's no name for it, no face for it, only the muted dread filling her mind like a fog.

At a quarter past 11 the listlessness becomes restlessness and she winds up at a pub down the road for lack of anything better to do, settled at the bar with a coffee and a vacant expression. There's a man and a woman sat arguing at a booth in the corner, but otherwise it's quiet save for the bartender who's working steadily on a bit of cleaning and seems not to be in a mood for conversation. It suits Sian fine. She's not sure what she'd say anyway.

"Hiya!" Sophie's cheerful voice floats to her through her gloomy thoughts. "Bit early, isn't it?"

Sian blinks away the fog. "Could say the same. It's just a coffee anyway."

"Right. Cheers." Sophie slides in beside her at the bar and orders a soda. "How're things with your dad?"

"Fine," Sian mutters.

"Well, you're in a mood," Sophie says, then arches a brow when Sian reflexively frowns. "What? I can still read ya, yanno. It's written all over your face."

Sian rolls her eyes. "What're you doing here?"

Sophie lifts a shoulder. "I'm meeting Rosie for lunch in a bit."

"Oh, is she back from London?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." Sophie heaves a long suffering sigh, and Sian snorts, turning about fully to let her eyes roam over Sophie's face in the light of day.

She looks…

"Has your skin gotten fairer?" Sian asks, blurting out the first question that comes to mind.

Sophie blushes. "Er, yeah. A bit."

"It suits you."

"Thanks. I was meaning to tell ya last night that I like what you've done with your hair, but I wasn't sure if... well."

Sophie bites her lip and looks away, and Sian grapples, suddenly, with a very strange feeling clawing up the back of her throat. Her hair's been a strawberry blonde bob for so long she's all but gotten bored of it, but now, as she watches Sophie admire it, Sian can feel the flush in her cheeks. She lifts the collar of her shirt away from her neck. It's become very stuffy all of a sudden.

"Hey, you alright?" Sophie asks, brows knitting.

"Yeah, just-," Sian reaches for her coffee and takes a healthy swallow. "Was about to go into town. Do some shopping maybe. Sort myself out."

"Is there something that needs sorting?"

Sian shrugs. "Dunno."

"Right, well… I could come with ya, if you like."

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience ya," Sian says, altogether too quickly and too abruptly, and Sophie just blinks.

"Okay," she says neutrally. "'Cept I did offer, so it's fine."

Sian squeezes her eyes shut. "Bollocks."

Sophie laughs. "Bollocks, is it?"

"I just- I wasn't meant to get on with you so well, was I?"

"You could pull my hair some if you like? Scream at me a bit?"

"Soph…"

Sophie stares, seemingly at a loss, and it takes Sian a moment to realise what's just slipped out of her mouth. She's about to apologise when Sophie finally recovers.

"It's been 7 years, okay?" Sophie ducks her head, bringing herself level with Sian's downturned face. "You were my whole world, yeah, but we was just kids. Getting married that young was bloody mental."

"Is that all you think it was?" Sian asks indignantly. "That we were just stupid kids?"

"'Course not." Sophie's voice softens. "You know that. I'm just sayin', like, the wind was always in our faces, yeah. There were forces working against us from the start."

"Dunno if I'd call Amber a force," Sian mutters bitterly, and Sophie huffs out a breath.

"Look, if you don't want me to come-"

Sian panics, reacting before she can think of what she's meant to say. "That's not what I mean. I do want you to come, it's just…doin' my head in a bit."

"Well, that makes two of us," Sophie says, laughing lightly, but she honestly looks no worse for wear, and Sian can't help but feel she's set herself on a slippery slope. "Want to join Rosie and I for lunch?" Sophie asks. "I'll text her and let her know you're here."

"That's alright," Sian starts to say, but she's interrupted by the sound of the front door to the pub swinging open and a loud, familiar voice reverberating throughout the room.

"Oh my actual god! Sian Powers, is that you?"

Right. Lunch it is then.

. . .

. . .

They spend the afternoon trying to find Sian a new dress for the wedding and it's a mistake, because Sophie's too lovely and too kind, and Sian just wants to sit down on the floor and cry from the confusion. Instead they make their way from one store to the next, Sophie offering suggestions, Sian trying not to fall apart while her ex-girlfriend does up the trickier zippers on her back. In the end they find something perfect, something dark blue to go with Emma's colour scheme, fitted to compliment her figure, but long enough in the leg to appease her overprotective father.

"Thank you," Sian says, sincerely, as they brave the elements again. "Seriously. It went by so much quicker with two of us."

Sophie bites her lip and smiles shyly. Rain is brewing on the horizon and her long hair flutters in the breeze. It's dead chilly, but Sian is sweating under her coat.

"Drink?" Sophie asks.

It's a bad idea.

"Yeah, go on," Sian says, after a beat, and Sophie's smile grows.

"I know just the place," she says.

She sets off down the walk, leading them further into the city. The heels of her chelsea boots click against the pavement with authority, and her brisk gait is steady and determined. Sophie's always possessed a natural bravery, but now she has poise as well, and she walks like it. Sian wonders, distantly, if this magnificent woman would ever have emerged had they actually married or whether it was the pain of their separation that refined Sophie into an adult, a blunt whetstone against which she was honed.

Sophie peeks back at Sian over her shoulder, her blue eyes catching the afternoon light, and Sian feels something sharp pierce her chest. She has half a mind to glance down and check for arrows between her ribs.

"You okay?" Sophie asks. "You look knackered."

"Yeah," Sian mutters, "'course."

"Just a few more blocks, yeah? We're almost there."

Sian nods silently.

Sophie's bar turns out to be a posh, dark little place with plush, secluded booths, exposed brick walls, and original hardwood floors. The aesthetic fuses old and new into a modern, post-industrial chic that makes Sian feel somewhat dumpy by comparison in her simple trainers and jeans.

"Oh, I dunno about this," Sian says, halting in the doorway.

"It'll be fine," Sophie says, grabbing her sleeve. "I know the bartenders, come on."

They find an empty booth in the corner under a chandelier arrangement of dimmed Edison bulbs and faux antlers. Sophie orders them drinks and a plate of fish and chips at the bar while Sian waits, and when the food arrives she sets about eating with surprising enthusiasm.

"Remember to breathe," Sophie teases, sipping her cocktail.

"I'm famished," Sian mutters between bites.

"Yeah, you did look a bit peaky before."

"I haven't slept well since I got here," Sian admits. "It's a bit weird being back in me old bed."

"I can imagine, yeah. Another drink?"

Sian glances down and realises she's already drained her whiskey and coke. "Er, yeah. Thanks."

Sophie gets up and returns a few minutes later with her hands full, shots in one, refills in the other. Sian's eyes widen as Sophie slides her a whiskey.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Sophie shrugs as, just over her shoulder, the door to the bar opens and a group of friends shuffles in. Sian catches sight of raindrops in their hair and on their shoulders. She checks her watch to find it's already half past four. Things will be picking up for the dinner hour soon.

"Hey, Sophie!" One of them waves and smiles and Sophie returns the gesture, but there's a flash of something on her face that instantly piques Sian's interest.

It's a woman, Sian notes, a slim, pretty brunette in a sheep-lined jacket, leather pants, and boots. The tail of her green flannel shirt trails out of the bottom of her coat, and she's wrapped her neck in a wooly, cream coloured scarf. She's fashionable, hot, and totally Sophie's type. The pieces click together neatly in Sian's head.

"Who's that?" Sian asks.

Sophie hardly turns to look at her as she replies. "Kate Connor."

"Any relation to Ryan?"

"Yeah," Sophie says, and downs her shot like water.

Sian's eyes widen.

"Hey!" Kate pulls up to the table, stuffing her hands into her back pockets and rocking forward on her toes. "Fancy seeing you here, eh?"

Sophie smiles, and Sian is reminded of a seam splitting, of stitches stretching and tearing.

"Yeah, hiya," Sophie breathes, then glances sidelong at Sian. "Right. Kate, this is Sian. Sian, Kate."

"Wait." Kate stares. "Like the Sian? As in Sian Powers?"

Sian squints at Kate, who seems unaware of her manners as she looks back to Sophie for confirmation.

"Yeah," Sophie says, tucking a strand of hair shyly behind her ear. "The same."

"Nice to meet you," Sian says, pointedly, and finally Kate seems to remember herself.

"You, too," Kate replies, shooting what is probably meant to be a covert glance at Sophie. "Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to come over and say hi. I should probably get back to Rana."

Kate hooks a thumb over her shoulder and Sophie nods. "Sure.

"See you later yeah, Soph?" Kate asks, arching a brow.

"'Course, yeah."

"I'll text ya. It was nice to meet you, Sian."

Sian smiles tepidly as Kate makes her way back to the table in the front, then watches as Kate kisses another woman on the temple, a dark haired beauty with a striking jawline and a flawlessly white smile.

"So, you and her-" Sian starts, but clams up abruptly when she catches sight of the expression on Sophie's face.

"Fancy another shot?" Sophie asks, with a voice like cracked glass.

"Uh, I haven't even touched my first," Sian admits.

Sophie seems to be locked in some kind of internal debate with herself for a few seconds before finally reaching out to steal Sian's shot, downing it with ease. Sian's brows shoot up in surprise.

"Sorry," Sophie mutters. "I'll buy us another round."

She starts to get up, but Sian grasps Sophie's hand across the table, finding her fingertips slick from spilled liquor. Sophie stills and glances up. Her gaze is wide and uncertain. It sends a shiver up Sian's back.

"Let me," Sian says quietly, squeezing Sophie's hand.

Sophie exhales. "Okay. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Sian offers her an encouraging smile as she scoots out of the booth, but by the time she reaches the bar her hands are trembling and her brain feels like it's vibrating in her skull. She's completely bricking it by the time the bartender turns to take her order.

"What can I get ya, love?"

Sian glances instinctively over her shoulder, finding Sophie slumped over her phone in the booth. The mood, which heretofore has been fairly light, if not somewhat tense, has bottomed out rapidly, and Sian is going to need more than her acting skills to get through the rest of the night. .

"Tequila," she says, turning back around. "Four shots, please."

. . .

. . .

Sophie's a handsy drunk and Sian's no better. Sitting together drinking in a bar is a new experience for both of them, as they never got out much together before, but as Sophie's hand creeps up her thigh Sian's mind keeps flashing back to college, back to stolen moments in Sophie's bedroom with nicked beers and cheeky bottles of cider.

"-And then Rosie had the bright idea to bury it all in Tim's allotment," Sophie is saying, eyes glazed, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Which, honestly, only Rosie could be so bloody stupid! She went and told the bloke she'd been seeing and he dug up half the garden looking for it!"

"No he didn't!" Sian gasps, laughing. "Oh my god!"

"Aye, he did! He tried to buy my dad's garage with the drug money," Sophie says. "It was a complete flamin' mess."

"Yeah, sounds like!"

Sian grins as she goes to take another swallow of her whiskey and coke. Her blood is searing and her skin is sticky, jacket long peeled away and forgotten. At some point in the evening Sophie had switched sides, scooting in beside Sian in the booth, and the fingers of Sian's right hand toy with the ends of Sophie's hair, finding it every bit as silky as she remembered.

Reaching for her phone on the table, Sophie's grip tightens reflexively on Sian's thigh, and it sends a familiar tingling feeling rushing through Sian's body. She chokes on her drink.

"Whoa, you alright?" Sophie asks earnestly, abandoning her phone.

Sian grabs for a napkin and Sophie sweeps the hair from Sian's face, leaning in so close Sian can smell her citrus shampoo. Sian coughs while Sophie rubs her back, raising a rash of prickly goosebumps in her wake. She shivers, slow to recover her breath. Sophie's still pressed in close. Sian can feel the heat, can feel the shape of her body against her side, and it's making her dizzy.

"Your face is all flushed," Sophie teases, reaching out to thumb a bit of moisture off Sian's chin. "I think you're proper drunk, babe."

Sian nearly chokes again.

Sophie's face is just right there, just a few centimeters away. Sian's eyes flicker and drop to Sophie's lips, lingering with intention, and the hitch in Sophie's breath, even over the noise of the bar, is like a gunshot in the air. It's off to the races. Sian can feel herself moving, can feel herself gasping as Sophie meets her in the middle. Everything is speeding up. Everything is slowing down.

"Fuck," Sian whispers, with her last free breath.

They kiss and it's like a flood.

Sian feels the dam within her breaking. Everything behind it pours out in a torrent, sweeping away any hopes she had of keeping a lid on her muddled feelings. She likes Sophie, but she hates Sophie, and it's all so fucking mental. It's all so fucking deranged. She's not the same girl who stood at the altar all those years ago. There's scar tissue on her damaged heart. She's got trust issues, and intimacy issues, and a boyfriend named Daniel, and oh jesus flaming christ, she just wants to kiss the face off Sophie bloody Webster!

The bar falls away, and with it goes any doubts. Sophie's mouth is hot and slick, and it tastes like liquor. Sian can't get close enough. Her fists curl greedily into the front of Sophie's blouse. Her tongue pries Sophie's lips apart as Sophie presses her back against the leather seat. There's a hand on Sian's hip and another on her neck, stroking the tiny hairs under her ear. Sian's tongue delves into Sophie's mouth, and Sophie sucks it in further, stroking with her own tongue until Sian is utterly unraveled. She's sweating under her clothes. Her nipples are stiff and poking through her bra. She wants to have sex.

"Should we go somewhere?" Sian asks, when they finally break for air.

Sophie pulls back a little, lidded eyes widening with surprise. She's breathing hard, almost as hard as Sian, and her fingers are flexing restlessly against Sian's hip.

"My mum's out with Tim tonight. We could-"

"Not there," Sian rasps.

"Well, where then? Certainly not your dad's?"

Sian licks her lips. "A hotel?"

Sophie pauses. "Eh, really? Doesn't that feel a bit…?"

"A bit what?"

"I dunno. Like, dodgy?"

"Dodgy's gettin' it on in the toilettes," Sian says, and Sophie bites her lip, glancing over at their shopping bags thoughtfully. "No way! Are you seriously thinking about it?"

"Would be a bit weird if we went to the toilettes with all our stuff, right?"

"Oh my god, give over!" Sian laughs, shoving lightly at Sophie's chest. "We are not doing that!"

Sophie grins sheepishly. "All right, hotel it is." She grabs her phone and opens up her map app. "Give me a minute, yeah?"

"I'll go get the tab," Sian says, but Sophie shakes her head.

"I already sorted it."

"When?"

"After the last round." Sophie's eyes scan over her screen, scrolling with her thumb. "Figured we should pack it in before somebody voms."

"Oh, god, I'm not that lashed," Sian giggles, but even as she says it, she's not so sure.

"I think I've found a place," Sophie says, after a second. "It's close enough to walk."

"Well, let's fucking go then," Sian replies, shoving at Sophie's shoulders.

Sophie grins, pairs a sharp salute with a cheeky "yes, ma'am", and slides backwards out of the booth.

They don't even make it to the hotel.

Sophie pins her to the wall in some dark alley, sheltered under a doorway from the worst of the rain, and it's such a shock Sian feels like she's been zapped with a cattle prod.

She whimpers into the dwindling space between them, letting out some ragged little sound, unintended and uncensored. Sophie curls her fingers, clutching tighter at the lapels of Sian's coat.

They shove their faces up together and snog messily, the way they used to as teenagers after too much booze. It's more deliberately reckless now than it was back then, something of a throwback maybe, but also more directed. Sian's whole body is pulsing. She knows exactly where this is going, or at least she thinks she does until Sophie pulls away without warning.

"Did you know I still think about ya all the time?" she asks unsteadily, eyes flicking back and forth across Sian's face. "Something pops out at me during the day, something that reminds me of you, and suddenly I'm back to thinking about ya, wondering where you are and what you're doing. Just anything, really."

Sian is too drunk for this. She doesn't want to talk, and she grinds her pelvis hard against Sophie's to make that point clear, but Sophie isn't deterred. When Sian lunges forward to try and reinitiate the kiss, Sophie turns her cheek like a barrier against the onslaught.

"Soph, c'mon-"

"Oh, don't be a cow," Sophie mutters, grudgingly affectionate. "I'm trying to tell ya something important."

Sian is not above whinging. "Can't it wait 'til tomorrow?"

Sophie shakes her head. "I don't want to wait. I've made up me mind."

Sian sighs. "'Course you have."

"Do you ever think about me?" Sophie asks, and Sian just gapes at her.

"What?"

"I just- I hope-" Sophie rubs at the back of her neck, growing flustered. "I hope you haven't totally forgotten about me, 'cause it would be dead lame, me sat here pining over ya while you've already gone and moved on…"

Sophie's expression contorts as she trails off, and Sian is surprised to feel the pain in sympathy, a twinge under her ribs where her heart's been hammering.

Sian's head hits the brick behind her, and she groans. "Why are you doing this?"

Sophie tears up unexpectedly. "You can't really expect me to have you so close after all this time and not be wrecked, can ya?"

Sian swallows. "Er, right. I guess not."

"Maybe we should just go home," Sophie says, rather thickly, and she looks so close to crying Sian can physically feel the impact as everything comes crashing back down to Earth.

"Yeah," Sian whispers. "You're probably right."

Sophie steps back and runs her fingers through her hair. It's well messy, all Sian's doing, and she looks totally lost. Sian guesses she probably looks a right state herself.

"Let's get an Uber back," Sophie says. "I don't think I can face the bus."

"I'll get it," Sian says quickly.

"No, it's really-"

"You got the drinks."

"Right." Sophie heaves a sigh, looking off and away. "Okay, yeah."

Sian cringes a bit at the way things have chilled. The air between them is rapidly becoming awkward, and it's well past time she got home into her bed to begin sorting this out. When she pulls out her phone, however, and notices a missed call from Daniel, her hand flies to her mouth.

Oh fuck.

"Everything okay?" Sophie asks, frowning.

"I, um…" Sian shakes her head, dread gripping her heart like an icy fist. "I've fucked up."

"What happened?"

"It's- It's nothing."

Sophie purses her lips, but doesn't press, and Sian doesn't elaborate. She orders an Uber with a knot in her stomach, and they wait together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

. . .

. . .

Sian avoids Sophie all the next day. She stays in recovering from her hangover and only checks her phone twice to reply to Daniel's texts, however half-hearted her responses might be. In truth, she needn't have bothered worrying about it. Sophie doesn't reach out to her at all, and that, somehow, makes Sian feel even worse about everything that's happened.

At tea time, Emma brings a tray up to Sian in the guestroom, where she's been laid up in bed watching films on her laptop.

"All right, Sian?" Emma asks, easing the door open with her foot. "Still a bit sick?"

Sian pauses her film, hoists herself up on the pillows, and blinks wearily at her soon to be step-mother. "A bit, yeah."

"Aw, I'm sorry, love. I've brought something to tide you over in the meantime." Emma sets the tray on the nightstand. "Gotta keep your strength up."

Sian manages a tremulous smile. "Ta, Emma. This is lovely."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all."

Sian takes a sip of her tea, notices it's been prepared the way she likes, and raises a brow. Her father never quite mastered that bit, but Emma's got it in one. Sian makes a mental note to buy the woman chocolates or something before she leaves.

"Will you be alright for the dress rehearsal tomorrow?" Emma asks, sitting lightly on the foot of the bed.

Sian is reminded suddenly of 15 year old Sophie throwing a fit over her stomach pains before prom. She frowns and tries to think of something else.

"I'll be fine," she says, honestly. "I've just got a nasty hangover, I think."

Emma smiles wryly. "Catching up with old friends?"

Sian swallows. "Er, yeah. Summat like that."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," Emma says, rising to her feet. "Will you be up and about for dinner?"

"I think so, yeah." Sian nods. "I could murder a home cooked meal."

"In that case, I'll make pork chops. See you later." Emma smiles and closes the door behind her.

Sian exhales into the silence left behind.

Just a few more days and then it's back to London, back to stability, and order, and things that make sense.

"How hard could it be?" she asks herself.

The answer comes immediately.

Very.

. . .

. . .

Friday passes in a haze of last minute planning and fittings, all of it culminating in the inexplicably long dress rehearsal. Sian has never been so thankful to be kept busy in all her life, and by the time she topples into bed around midnight, she's too knackered to think about anything but sleep.

Saturday arrives bright and early, bringing with it a flurry of pictures and minor scheduling crises, none of which she and the family can't handle, but then, maybe her father has a right to be so nervous. Weddings in Weatherfield never seem to go as planned.

At half past four, Sian stands at the front of the old church, smiling behind a bouquet of flowers as Emma makes her way down the aisle on the arm of her older brother. Out in the pews, packed with friends, neighbours, and Emma's rather large family, Sian can hear the telltale sniffling, the quiet murmuring, the sound of the photographer's shutter snapping. Only a few attendees have actually removed their coats, as the wind's picked up again outside and it's dead freezing inside. Sian tries not to shiver too obviously in her thin dress. Her father is grinning from ear to ear in his rented tux despite the bout of nausea he was battling just an hour earlier. Even her mom, stood at the back with her latest boyfriend, is smiling delicately.

All in all, it's a beautiful ceremony. Sian cries. Her father cries. Emma has a slight mishap with her veil and the church erupts into cheers when they finally get it over her head for the kiss. Afterward, stood outside the reception venue in a proper coat, Sian stares up into the darkening sky while she smokes a cigarette. The glass of champagne clutched in her left hand is nearly empty, tipped haphazardly to one side, and the curls have fallen out of her hair. She's in no fit state to be alone, having the thoughts she's having, and yet she can't stand to be inside another minute. Small talk with relatives is hard enough without Sophie's face popping into her mind every two minutes. It's all gone to pieces so fast.

"Build your house on sand…" she mutters, recalling an old Bible verse.

Sophie would approve.

"All right, Sian?"

Sian startles and glances up at her dad, who has stepped out into the rain beside her. His bowtie is loosened and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, but he looks dead happy. Sian tries to imagine herself in such a state over marrying Daniel and finds she can't.

"Yeah, all right," she answers, faintly.

"Mind if I bum one?"

"Sure, yeah." Sian holds out the packet and the lighter, which he accepts gratefully. "Where's Emma?"

"Inside talking to her cousins or summat."

"Right." Sian sticks the filter to her lips and inhales. "She's got a quite a large family, hasn't she?"

"You don't know the half of it. Flamin' Irish."

Sian snorts and kills the last of her champagne. Her phone weighs heavily in her pocket. She came outside meaning to check her messages, but realised she wasn't sure whether she was looking out more for Sophie or Daniel and in the end couldn't bring herself to do it.

"So, have you uh…" Her dad trails off, kicking awkwardly at the pavement under his feet. "Have you seen any nice girls inside you'd like to dance with?" Sian's mouth falls open in shock and he shrugs. "I mean, if you're still single an' all. You did come alone, so I thought…" He shrugs again.

Sian takes a moment to process this development.

"Dad, there's something I've been meaning to…" She swallows thickly. "I um. I've been meaning to tell you that I've got a boyfriend."

Her father's head whips around. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Are you serious? You're not taking the piss?"

"No, Dad. I'm serious."

He leans back against the wall and exhales, staring at her like she's sprouted a pair of horns. "You know I've only just come round to this lesbian stuff and now you drop a flamin' boyfriend on me? Christ, girl."

Sian feels herself beginning to tear up, but she blinks it away. "Sorry."

"I really don't understand you sometimes, Sian. You and your mother both, like a pair of bleedin' enigmas."

"Tell me about it."

"So," he says, after a brief silence, "what's his name then?"

"Daniel."

"Strong name. Why didn't you bring him with you?"

"Because I'm going to break up with him," Sian says morosely. "I don't love him."

Her father gapes at her, cigarette hanging from his half open mouth. "Are you jokin'?"

Sian shakes her head, and this time she can't quite hold back the tears that spill onto her cheeks. She doesn't even care if her makeup is ruined. She's shaking head to foot, her stomach's been sour for three straight days, and she hasn't slept since she arrived. Her cigarette falls into a puddle, forgotten, as her dad tugs her into a stiff hug. Sian clings to his shirt and cries.

"What am I going to do with you, girl?" he mutters, gruffly.

Sian shakes her head.

"Oi, it'll be okay, yeah? He's just a lad."

"Yeah, but how am I gonna tell 'im?" Sian sobs. "He really likes me, Dad. I feel so awful."

He sighs. "Tell him the truth, Sian."

"But-"

"What you doin' dating boys anyway? I thought you was meant to like girls?"

"I do," Sian mumbles. "I dunno, okay? It was a huge mistake."

"Alright, come on then." Vinny breaks the hug and holds her out by the shoulders, glaring down at her sternly. "You best set this right before you put this lad through any more heartbreak. Rip the plaster off and get it over with, you hear me?"

Sian manages a tearful nods. "Okay, Dad. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He smiles thinly. "I'm heading back inside. You comin'?"

"Actually, there's um…" Sian looks at her feet. "There's something I need to take care of first. You don't mind if I duck out for a bit, do ya?"

Her dad sighs. "Yeah, go on then. The toasts are finished an' all. You'll miss the cake though."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to be quick."

"No, you know what? Just-" He waves her off. "Just do your thing. Get your shit sorted, okay? We'll be fine without ya."

"But, Dad-"

"No buts." He ruffles her hair and turns to retreat inside. "We're going to the hotel tonight, but I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

Sian offers him a watery smile. "Yeah, all right."

"Chin up," he says, then disappears through the doorway.

A burst of noise from the hall follows his re-entry, the joyful sounds of music and laughter carrying outside into the soggy streets before fading away again. Sian takes a minute to watch the rain, drying her tears on her sleeves. The pieces of her certainty lie shattered around her like shards of glass, and in her confusion, Sian is confident of only one thing.

It's time to set this right.

. . .

. . .

In a dark and lonely bus shelter, shielded somewhat from the rain, Sian sits gazing at her phone. She's been turning it over in her hands for some time, picking at the chipped bits in the plastic case. The inevitable lurks over her shoulder like some horror movie goon, but she's had trouble finding the clarity of mind to make the call. The words she whispers in practice turn to mush in her mouth. Her head is filled with worst case scenarios and terrors of all sorts. What if it all goes wrong? What if he gets angry?

"He deserves to be angry, you twat," she mutters to herself.

 _Doesn't mean it's pleasant to be shouted at,_ her mind supplies, unhelpfully.

Sian squeezes her eyes shut. It's cold out, and she's got somewhere else she needs to be. Daniel's not the only piece of this jigsaw puzzle that needs solving. She's also dragged Sophie into this cheap, television-worthy love triangle, the irony of which can only be cruel, as neither of them will have forgotten that Sian left Sophie for less. Maybe she wanted to hurt her ex once, but that impulse has passed. Neither Sophie nor Daniel deserve this, and Sian, the metaphorical lynchpin in this growing web of deceit, feels utterly miserable.

It's only going to get worse, she thinks, recalling a teenage Sophie's furtive efforts to bury her own guilt all those years ago. Never has such a predicament felt so relatable.

The realization bolsters Sian's faltering confidence. At last, she finds the courage to turn on her phone, prepared to absorb whatever vitriol comes her way with grace and humility.

It's a hundred times worse, then, when Daniel isn't angry at all. Instead his voice sounds panicked as he says, _"I don't understand,"_ over and over again.

"It's not you," Sian says.

 _"Don't give me that,"_ Daniel snaps, betraying some exasperation. "Of course it's me, or you wouldn't be splitting up with me."

"Dan, please! It's not you, really!" Sian groans under her breath, steadying herself for the truth. "It's me, okay? I just… I like women."

There's a long pause from the other end. Sian has begun to worry he's simply hung up the phone when she hears a sound that breaks her heart. A shaky breath, coupled with a delicate sniff.

 _"Are you saying you only like women?"_ he asks, voice cracking.

"Yeah." Sian nods to no one in particular. "I think I am."

 _"But… I don't understand. We had sex, properly like. You didn't seem against it at the time."_

"Yeah, well, I wasn't," Sian mumbles, growing guiltier by the second, "but love and sex aren't the same. I did enjoy our time together, and I do like you, but… I don't love you."

Daniel sniffs again. _"Well, isn't that alright? Love takes time, yeah? I don't mind waiting for you if that's what you need."_

Tears gather in Sian's eyes and drip onto her thighs. She's hunched over her lap in an attempt to hold back her grief, but the veneer is starting to crack.

"I don't think I can love you, Dan," she rasps, with devastating finality. "I've given it a lot of thought while I've been up here, and I just can't see myself at the altar with ya. I'm so sorry."

 _"Right,"_ Daniel croaks. _"I'll um, pack up your things, then, and stick them in the mail."_

"I can come pick them up."

 _"No, please. I don't think I can…"_ he trails off, but the implication is clear as day.

"All right," Sian agrees, weakly.

 _"Good bye, Sian,"_ Daniel says, and hangs up the phone.

. . .

. . .

It doesn't even phase Sian that Sophie still lives at home. In fact, it seems entirely in character.

She stands shivering outside Number 11 Coronation Street. Her hands are balled into fists in her coat pockets. Her eyes sting every time she blinks, and her makeup is streaked, but she's gotten the worst of it over with, at least. So there's that.

Sian sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. The rain soaks her hair and shoulders as she stands collecting her nerves. It's surreal to actually be back. From the outside, the Webster home still looks exactly same, exactly as she left it all those years ago. Sian feels like she's fallen into a time capsule, like she's positioned in the center of a venn diagram where her past and present overlap. She's avoided Coronation Street since coming back. Now, finally, she can articulate why.

Five minutes or so pass while she waits for the inspiration to knock. When, at last, she raises her fist to the wood and raps, a light goes on in the hallway and a man she's never seen before answers the door.

"Uh hi," she says, suddenly very conscious of her bedraggled state. "You must be Tim?"

His eyes shift over her restlessly. "Aye, that's me."

"Right, um…" Sian licks her lips. "Is Sophie in?"

"Ah, you just missed her, love."

Sian's heart sinks. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Not long, I reckon. She's just nipped out for a kebab."

"Well, suppose I just text her?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim nods vacantly, and when Sian hears the telltale roar of a football match on the telly in the front room she understands why.

She's about to excuse herself and leave him to it when someone calls out to her from the street.

"Sian?"

All the hair stands up on her head. She'd recognise that voice anywhere. Sian spins around to find Sophie stopped dead in her tracks, a cardboard takeaway container clutched in her hands. Her hair is down, but her makeup is light and she's dressed for comfort in an oversized jumper and baggy jeans. She's honestly never looked more beautiful.

Sian offers a feeble wave. "Hey, Soph."

"Yeah, hiya." Sophie replies, expression unreadable.

"Right, so, I'm going to uh, go back in," Tim says, faintly, and Sian hears rather than sees him depart.

"You look…" Sophie's eyes sweep the length of Sian's body. "Have you been crying?"

"Uh, a bit, yeah." Sian manages a wan smile, and folds her arms protectively across her chest. "Can I come in?"

This finally seems to shake Sophie out of her stupor. Her trainers scuff against the cobbles as she starts forward again, schooling her expression into something carefully neutral.

"Course, yeah. Should I put the kettle on?"

"I'm fine, actually, thanks."

"Right. Come on then."

Sophie's hand reflexively finds the small of Sian's back as she ushers her in out of the rain, and the amount of comfort Sian derives from it is alarming. It's not just lust, Sian realises, that's brought her running back to Sophie tonight.

Inside, Sian takes a second to observe all that's changed about the decorating, partaking in a spontaneous game of spot the difference. When Sophie goes to lead Sian past Tim on the couch and back into the kitchen, however, Sian tugs on her arm.

"Do you think we could talk? Like in private?"

Sophie bites her lip, glancing first up the stairs and then back down at Tim, who, without tearing his eyes off the screen, says, "your mum'll be late tonight. She's out with Gina."

"And Rosie?" Sophie asks, carefully.

Tim shrugs. "I'll handle 'er."

"Right," Sophie says. "Thanks."

"So, should I turn up the volume or what?"

Sophie rolls her eyes and practically shoves Sian towards the stairs. "I'll pretend you never asked me that. C'mon Sian."

Sophie steers her upstairs into her darkened bedroom, taking care to shut the door behind them. Sian stares through the gloom. The space is familiar, but not at all how she remembers it. Most everything has changed to suit the tastes of a 25 year old woman, down to the wallpaper and furniture. Even the fairy lights strewn across the ceiling are new, pure white instead of rainbow. Sophie quickly plugs those in, forgoing the lamps for softer lighting.

As she continues to look around, Sian notices another bed pushed up against the wall across from Sophie's double. A vanity covered with makeup containers and beauty products sits beside it, and a second wardrobe has joined the first.

"What's all this?" Sian asks, gesturing.

"Rosie's sharing my room while Auntie Gina's staying with us," Sophie explains, going to switch on the little bluetooth speaker on the nightstand.

"That must be a laugh."

Sophie shrugs. "It's not all bad. We've gotten closer these last few years."

"Oh, aye?"

Sophie nods absently, frowning down at her phone, and Sian slips off her sodden heels, depositing them by the door. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure how to proceed.

"So," Sophie says, once she's gotten the music to work. "You wanted to talk to me?" She turns around and stares at Sian expectantly.

Sian swallows thickly. "Er, yeah."

Sophie sets the takeaway container on her bed and sits down. "Are you hungry?"

It's a peace offering, a chance for them to speak with one another on neutral terms. Sophie's trying to put Sian at ease. It's all very kind of her, except chatting civilly is not at all what Sian wants to do right now. She has things to say, and they need to be uttered with a certain amount of force. She's thought about this. She hasn't stopped thinking about this if she's honest.

"I do think about you," Sian begins, without preamble.

The blank expression returns to Sophie's face. "What?"

"I said I do think about you, Soph. You asked me if I ever think about you, and I couldn't answer, but I do."

Sophie goes white as a sheet. It's not the reaction Sian was expecting, and it knocks her for a bit of a loop. Her mouth dries up and her hands go a bit clammy.

"I, um…" she trails off, running twitchy fingers through her wet, tangled hair. "I was hurt, yanno, and so I did think about ya, but it wasn't very kind. Not at first. The anger was all I really had left of you, so I clung onto it. Probably for way too long, I dunno. I thought I proper hated you, except, then I ran into you the other day and..."

"And?" Sophie prods, voice only a murmur.

"And, well… I don't, do I?"

Sophie's eyes shimmer. It makes Sian's head swim.

"I was just really hurt, yeah, but I think I still… I mean it's absolutely mental, but I still..."

"...Do you love me?" Sophie asks.

Sian tries to swallow around the lump in her throat and finds that she can't.

"I don't know if I ever really stopped," she croaks.

Sophie absorbs this for a moment, then stands abruptly from the bed and crosses the room in three swift strides. Sian panics. She stumbles backward, spine hitting the wall behind her, and Sophie pulls up short, halting just an arm's length away. She holds up her hands in what's meant to be a placating gesture.

"I wasn't gonna maul ya," Sophie says.

Sian crosses her arms. "Well, what was you gonna do, eh?

"Dunno." Sophie's eyes dart to her lips. "Kiss you maybe."

"Uh, did I say you could do that?"

Sophie rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Right. Sorry."

"Soph, I know what I said, but my head's still a mess! I can't sort any of it out, and I don't know what I want."

"Yeah, well neither do I."

"It sure looks like you do to me."

"No, I-" Sophie cuts herself off and growls in frustration, hands going up in the air. "You're the one who showed up here tonight talking about your feelings! I was gonna leave it! I was gonna let you run back to London and pretend this never happened!"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious! Do you think you're the only one here who's freaking out? Because I've been in bits since you came back! I don't know what to do with meself!"

Sian scoffs. "Oh, poor you, gettin' a second chance! You must be dead thrilled."

"I'm serious, Sian!" Sophie's eyes flash. "It's doin' me head in! It's making me think about stuff I haven't thought about in ages, and I don't like it any more than you do!"

"Sure, right." Sian rolls her eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Yeah, it does help me sleep at night, and it's good job, too! You think I like what I did to ya? You think I wasn't shattered when you left? You think I enjoyed comparing myself to me dad? Well, guess what?" Sophie leans in, and Sian instinctively tries to back away, but there's nowhere to go. "I had to move to on. I had to forgive myself and let it go, because I was no good to nobody in that state. My family needed me! I couldn't mope around forever!"

"So, what, you just got over it?" Sian spits. "How bloody convenient!"

"No, I didn't just get over it, but I had to get better! I had to grow up! I can't stay stuck with my mistakes for the rest of me life! And would you even like that anyway? Me sat around pining for ya until the end of time?"

"No, of course not!" Sian yells. "What kind of person do you think I am?!"

"Well, that's the trouble, isn't it, because I don't even know anymore!" Sophie expression contorts with agony. "Seeing you again's like seeing a ghost!"

Her words ring out in the room, and in the brief moment of silence that follows Sian realises how close they've gotten, how heavily they're both breathing. Sophie closes her eyes and tries to regain her composure. When she opens them again, she looks weary.

"I feel proper mental when I'm with you," she says. "I feel like all this time and hard work meant nothing, because I'm right back at that altar where I started, and I haven't changed a bit. I still want you, Sian. I hate admitting that to myself."

Sian feels like she's been struck with a piece of lumber. She opens her mouth to reply, but words fail her. Her chin is trembling, and it won't stop. She hasn't felt so out of control in years and it's terrifying, because right in front of her Sophie is a vision, dark hair mussed, blue eyes bright, cheeks rosy. Sian's fingers ache with the desire to touch her.

"Look…" Sophie bites her lip and looks at the carpet, "if you don't wanna stay here with me tonight, I suggest you go. Because I wanna kiss ya, and touch ya, and if you don't leave right now I don't know what I'll do."

Sian listens to her heart pound for a moment before giving in. She leans in, curls her hand around the back of Sophie's head, and steals a hard kiss. Her blood roars its approval as Sophie gasps, body going limp. When Sian pulls away again, Sophie looks properly dazed.

"Do you still love me?" Sian asks, more demand than question.

Sophie's throat bobs. "...You know I do."

"And is that enough?"

Sophie frowns. "What do you mean?"

Sian bites her lip. Something ugly and green has reared its head inside her, and she can't seem to rein it in.

"If Maddie was stood here right now in this room, which one of us would you choose?"

Sophie flinches and tries to step back, but Sian's hand shoots out, fisting in her jumper, holding her fast.

"That is so not on!" Sophie protests. "Why would you even ask me that?"

"Because I have to be sure this time, that's why!" Sian's teeth flash. "I can't do this again if you're just gonna run off with the first slag that bats her eyes at you! You hurt me, Sophie!"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry! I've told ya!"

"No!" Sian stabs a shaking finger into her chest. "You don't get to apologise and decide it's alright! You don't get to make fancy declarations about moving on and then tell me to get over it! Because I'm not fucking over it!"

Sophie's eyes widen. "Sian-"

"You don't know how much you made me doubt myself! I gave you everything and you ruined it for a girl who didn't even like you back! Can you even imagine how I felt?! It's been seven years, and every time I look at ya I'm still wondering in the back of me mind why I wasn't enough!"

"You were!" Sophie face burns red, eyes filling with tears. "You were enough, Sian! I swear!"

"Yeah, and what about Maddie?! What about your other girlfriends?! Did you go behind their backs, too?!"

"No!" Sophie tries to back away again, but Sian employs her second hand, pulling her in close. Sophie fights the hold. "Let go of me!"

"Not until I get an answer!"

"An answer to what?!"

The frantic pitch of Sophie's voice strikes a chord, and something suspended inside of Sian finally snaps. Her face crumples, fists falling away from Sophie's jumper. Tears spills from her eyes, thick and fast. Her chest burns. Her head spins so fast she feels dizzy. The pain is old, but it's deep, and it's ripping her right up the middle. The vault has opened properly now. There's nothing she can do to stop the torrent spilling out.

"Did you love them other girls more than me?" Sian sobs. "Were they better for you, Soph? Did they fill the holes I couldn't?"

Sian feels the pressure of hands gripping her shoulders, and a moment later she's enveloped in a tight hug. Sophie's hair tickles her nose, the smell of it familiar and comforting. Sian burrows her nose in deeper. Anything to be closer. Anything to be anchored. An earnest kiss is pressed behind her ear, and she dissolves into incoherency, eking out bits of words into Sophie's neck, fractured apologies, fragmented invectives.

"Sian…" Sophie whispers, swallowing thickly. "Babe..."

Sian clutches at Sophie's back, fingers fisting in her jumper. She feels so utterly undone, so completely in bits. Nothing makes sense except the solid of feel of Sophie pressed against her, held on tight.

"It was never you who wasn't enough," Sophie says quietly. "I was the one always acting like a jealous prat. I was the one always paranoid for no reason. You were totally devoted, and I was too caught up in my own insecurities to see that."

"Yeah b-but Amber-"

"Forget about bloody Amber, yeah. The second you left I saw everything clear as day. I didn't give a toss about her. I just wanted you back, all right?" Sophie kisses her hair, bringing her mouth close to Sian's ear to whisper the rest. "You don't know how many times I wished I could take it all back. I promised myself I'd never do anything like that again. I'm so, so sorry."

Sian sucks in a trembling breath."I gave up everything to be with you, you stupid cow."

"Yeah, I know." Sophie nods. "You were an amazing girlfriend. I was just a young, jealous, stupid idiot."

Sian lifts her head from Sophie's shoulder and pulls Sophie into a tear-streaked kiss. This time Sophie is ready for her, hands cupping Sian's cheeks, fingers sliding into Sian's hair. When they break apart, Sian can't seem to catch her breath. It takes her several seconds with her eyes closed to gain enough composure to speak.

"I was meant to be over ya, Sophie Webster. I'm too old for this."

Sophie huffs a laugh. "Did you really believe that?"

"Maybe." Sian blinks her bleary eyes open and locks gazes with Sophie, whose eyes are sparkling in the dim fairy lights. "Maybe I'm not so sure anymore."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Sophie starts to say something else, but hesitates. "...Maddie said something once that stuck with me. She said maybe you was the right person at the wrong time. I thought it was really profound. It did make sense to me at the time."

Sian blinks and pulls away. "Maddie said that?"

"Yeah." Sophie glances down sheepishly. "We talked about you a couple of times. She found the wedding invitations, and, um...had some questions."

"How'd she say summat like that without getting jealous?"

"Oh, she was well jealous," Sophie says, laughing softly. "I think that's why she brought it up. She wanted to make sure she had no competition." She pauses and her expression turns doubtful. "I don't know who I'd pick. Honestly, I don't. I think I'd rather join a flamin' convent than decide."

Sian again feels the pull of several conflicting emotions in her chest, but she lets them be. Her heart swells to hold all that she feels for Sophie, every messy bit of it. Maybe this is what it's like to let go of the past.

"It's alright," Sian mutters. "It was a stupid question anyway."

Sophie smiles sadly and rubs Sian's shoulders. "You look proper tired, babe."

"I'm completely knackered," Sian admits, sagging.

"Yeah, well me too." Sophie heaves a long suffering sigh. "I haven't slept much this week for some reason. Can't think of why..." She winks and Sian laughs.

"Subtle as ever," Sian teases.

Grinning ear to ear, Sophie leans in for a kiss and Sian happily obliges. The sensation of Sophie's mouth against hers, moving softly, pressing gently, is utterly calming. A kind of peace blankets her mind, soothing her nerves, and, all at once, she's so exhausted she could drop on the spot. Sophie seems to sense this. She doesn't try to intensify things, instead pulling back after a playful little nip to Sian's bottom lip.

"So," Sophie says, as Sian's eyes flutter back open, "what does this mean, then?"

"Dunno," Sian admits. "I hadn't really gotten this far in my head."

"Still went better than expected, probably."

"Er yeah. Sorry for shoutin'."

"No, I am. It was me that did most of the shouting."

Sian smirks. "You've still got a proper set of pipes on you, babe."

"Uh, yeah, still a Webster last I checked. Sort of comes with the territory. "Sophie grins and glances over her shoulder at the bed. "The kebab and chips are probably cold by now, but well… Are you hungry?"

Sian snorts. "Oh, cheers."

"Hey, what's mine is yours, yeah?"

Sian grins back and kisses her again, and again, until the individual pecks have dissolved into seamless snogging, and Sian can feel the pressure mounting in her body. Sophie moans into her mouth. It spurs a series of pleasurable flips in her stomach, so strong that Sian has to break away to catch her breath.

"Christ, I think I have to stop."

"You almost look disappointed," Sophie says, radiating amusement.

"Yeah, well I am." Sian reaches out to trace Sophie's bottom lip with her thumb. "I don't think I have the energy. I'm not a teenager anymore, yanno."

"All right, come on then," Sophie says, tugging at Sian's sleeve. "Get this soggy coat off and come have summat to eat."

"Can't we warm it up first?" Sian asks, allowing herself to be lead away.

"What, and face Tim after all that yelling? Be my guest."

"Oh my god." Sian puts her face in her hands. "I totally forgot about Tim."

Sophie can barely contain her laughter. After only a second of struggle, Sian snorts too, and soon they've both fallen over one another onto the bed, rolling about in hysterics. It feels good, Sian realises, as she giggles into Sophie's shoulder, and not good in the way it used to feel, back when everything was new and tense and fraught with misunderstanding. No. This time it feels different.

It feels right.

. . .

. . .

It's not the morning light that wakes Sian but the sound of Sophie's bedroom door creaking open. She has only half a second to register she's no longer asleep before a familiar voice speaks up.

"Sophie? I was just coming up to see if you-" Sally stops mid-sentence and blinks down at Sian, who wearily blinks back. "Sian? Is that you?"

Sian glances down to see she's fallen asleep in her bridesmaids dress next to a fully clothed and fully comatose Sophie. Her eyes are crusty and sore from crying, and her hair's a right bird's nest, matted to one side of her face.

"Er, good morning, Sally," she murmurs. "Pardon the intrusion."

"Oh my god, it is you!" Sally gasps, briefly covering her mouth. "Well, that'll explain Rosie on the couch then."

"Rosie's on the couch?" Sian asks, bewildered. "Like, willingly?"

"I'm as shocked as you are, love, but clearly it was a special occasion." Sally smiles and winks. "Oh, it's so lovely to see your face again! I was just coming up to ask Sophie if she would like some breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Sian considers the state of her stomach as she tries to stretch, finding it difficult with Sophie's weight pressed against her right side. She notes the mop of dark hair tickling her shoulder. Sophie's head is otherwise submerged under the covers.

"Ta, Sally, but I think Sophie has the right idea," she replies quietly. "We were up pretty late talking. I might try to get a bit more sleep."

"All right. I'll save you girls a plate of bacon in the microwave just in case."

"Thank you," Sian says. "for everything."

Sally smiles tenderly, as only a mother can. "It's no trouble, dear. You're a sight for sore eyes, you know. I'll leave you girls to it, all right?"

Sian nods, and with that, Sally backs out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

"I thought she'd never leave," Sophie grumbles suddenly.

Sian jumps a bit, heart skipping. "How long've you been awake?"

"Too long," comes the muffled reply. "What time is it?"

"Um…" Sian catches her breath and reaches out with her left hand to retrieve Sophie's phone from the bedside table. "Half eight."

"Ugh, give me strength. Doesn't me mum know it's a Sunday?"

Sian giggles. "Still not a morning person, I see."

"Astute of you," Sophie mutters drily. "Not just a pretty face, then."

"Oi!" Sian attempts to shrug Sophie off her shoulder, but Sophie slings an arm slings Sian's ribs and hooks tenacious fingers under her side, holding her fast.

"Stay," Sophie growls, nose nudging at Sian's bare shoulder.

Sian turns her head on the pillow until her lips rest against Sophie's crown. "I wasn't goin' anywhere, you stubborn mare."

"Better not be," Sophie says, clutching tighter.

Sian smiles and lets her eyes slip closed, breathing in Sophie's scent. A minute ticks by, and then two. Soon she's lost track of time altogether. It would be wise to get back to her dad's for a proper shower before he and Emma return from the hotel, lest she face the third degree, but she can think of nothing worse at the moment than leaving Sophie's bed to brave the rain.

"I don't remember falling asleep last night," she murmurs, half to Sophie, half to herself.

"Nor I," Sophie mumbles.

Her voice is groggy, and Sian knows she's already dozing off again. Their time together is running short. She's due back in London the following morning, back to reality, back to her job at the firm and her messy flat.

Sian shifts quickly in the bed, tugging at Sophie's waist until she's gotten the hint and hoisted herself up, draping herself over Sian like a second blanket. The tension drains from Sian's muscles like water, like she's exhaled with her whole body. Her arms wind around Sophie's ribs, drawing their chests still tighter together, and Sian's eyes close. Her heart sings. The weight of Sophie is soothing in ways so primal and instinctual she can't find the words.

"This is weird," Sian whispers, listening to Sophie breathe, feeling their lungs rise and fall together. "I missed you."

It's not nearly enough.

Sophie exhales into the crook of Sian's neck. "I missed you, too."

Sian cards her fingers through Sophie's long hair, twisting the strands between her fingers, stroking at her scalp. Sophie groans faintly and shifts her weight atop Sian. Sophie's hair has always been a weakness of hers. At one time, when Kevin and Sally's rows had reached a fever pitch, it was the only thing that could take Sophie's mind off of the pandemonium in her house. Sian thinks back ruefully to those nights spent huddled together in bed, clutching at each other while the shouting carried up from below. After the tram crash, after Molly's death and the revelation of Kevin's affair, it was only a matter of weeks before Sophie broke her vow of chastity, and maybe Sian was ready, maybe she wasn't, but Sophie was freefalling and Sian couldn't bring herself to deny Sophie the comfort. Better that than drinking. Sophie drinking was always trouble.

"Remember when we used to do this?" Sian asks, sighing.

"Course," Sophie murmurs.

"You were so upset sometimes I didn't know what to do, so I just stroked your hair until you fell asleep."

Sophie chuckles. "I seem to remember it leading somewhere different."

Sian snorts. "Oh, yeah. Right."

"I think you actually tried to suck the soul from my body on a few occasions."

A hot blush spreads across Sian's face. Her heart beats a bit faster. It was something Sophie used to tease her for mercilessly, Sian's rather embarrassing oral fixation.

"-Just hope you never did Ryan like that," Sophie is saying as Sian tunes back in.

"I never!" she protests.

"Well, that's a relief," Sophie says with a laugh, and reaches up, pressing her index and middle fingers to Sian's lips.

It's meant to be a bit of teasing and nothing more, but the reaction it garners is automatic, an impulse derived from pure muscle memory. Sian sucks them into her mouth without a thought, tasting the salt on Sophie's fingertips. The body above her stiffens.

"Oh," Sophie breathes.

Sian has several seconds to decide what she's going to do, and pretends to give it some honest thought, but her mind's been made up for days already. She licks up the seam between Sophie's fingers, swirling over her nail beds before circling underneath to tease her sensitive pads. Sophie's hips jerk. She lifts her head from Sian's chest and expels a ragged breath. Her gaze is lidded, fixed like like a laser on the movement of Sian's mouth. She extract her fingers until Sian's teeth halt their retreat, then pumps them in again a little deeper. Sian swallows her with enthusiasm, curling her tongue over Sophie's knuckles, sucking until Sophie's hips twitch again, breath catching.

"Sian…" Sophie croaks.

The plea sets Sian's hair on end.

Without warning, Sophie tugs her fingers free of Sian's mouth and replaces her fingers with her lips. It's a messy, hungry kiss. Sian whimpers. A spark has ignited in her chest, spreading outward like a wildfire into her limbs and extremities. It consumes every resistance it encounters. Her reservations go up in flames. This time, when Sian kisses Sophie, the twisting of her tongue is a promise.

Sophie's hand finds Sian's thigh and begins fumbling north, bringing with it the hem of her dress.

Sian breaks away with a gasp. "Soph, your whole family's downstairs."

"I don't care," Sophie says, pushing the dress past Sian's hips. "I can be quiet."

"Yeah, well I'm not sure I can," Sian says, wriggling to assist with its removal as the material reaches her armpits.

Sophie undoes the zipper with ease, shucks the dress from Sian's body, then quickly ducks her head so Sian can yank off her jumper. The covers fly off. The bed frame creaks. Sophie works on unbuttoning her jeans while Sian tears off her shirt and bra. By the time they're stripped and pressed together, Sian is fit to burst. The sensation of Sophie's naked body pressed against hers is heavenly.

"Oh my god," she whispers, head falling back against the pillow. "I cannot fucking believe how much I missed this."

Her hands slide down the length of Sophie's spine to cup her bum, kneading steadily, locking their hips together. Sophie notches a thigh between Sian's legs and it's maddening, but it's not enough pressure to alleviate the ache. Sian grinds down, dragging a slippery trail along Sophie's skin, climbing higher on Sophie's stifled groans of approval. They've stopped kissing directly, settling instead for smearing their mouths along whatever patches of each other's bodies they can reach. Sophie's hair sweeps across her chest like a curtain of silk, tongue stumbling inadvertently over a stiff nipple.

"Oh god, oh god-" Sian turns her head into her shoulder, biting at the muscle to stifle her voice.

Sophie takes this as encouragement and doubles down. Half of Sian's breast disappears into her mouth, consumed in a manner so unabashedly filthy Sian can barely contain the strangled sound she makes. Blood pounds in her ears, throbbing in her hands and between her legs. Saliva pools in her mouth.

"I miss the way you taste," Sian gasps, as Sophie switches sides.

This earns her a hard bite on her chest and a truly wanton groan from Sophie, whose movements have grown frantic. Her hands are everywhere, pulling on Sian's hair, palming Sian's breasts, sweeping her back and her sides, gripping her ribs, her hips, her thighs. Sophie drags her nails over Sian's arse and the shock it elicits shoots all the way up into her head, fizzling in her brain like firecracker. Sian whimpers. Sophie echoes the sound. Her cunt collides briefly with Sian's raised knee and Sian feels the astonishing heat, the slick mess of it, the rapid unraveling of Sophie's restraint.

"Soph, you're soaked!"

"Your fault," Sophie huffs, raggedly. "Been a flamin' mess since the other night."

Sian quickly worms a hand between their bodies and cups Sophie. For something she should know quite intimately, the sensation is still astonishing. Sian's mouth falls open in wonder as Sophie bucks up and gasps, rutting hard against Sian's palm. Sian rolls them to the side and drags Sophie's leg over her hip. The improved angle offers Sian better access and she takes her time, exploring Sophie with her fingertips. She's so warm, so wet, so soft and so pliable. Sian retracts her hand and brings it to her lips, intending to sample a taste, but she's barely reached at her destination before Sophie's snatching it back, dragging it back between her thighs.

Sian giggles. "Eager much?"

"Sorry, but I need ya now," Sophie gasps in reply, and deftly steers two of Sian's fingers to her opening, pushing until they've slipped inside.

Sophie moans. Sian's heart nearly stops.

Everything goes to her head at once, and suddenly she feels drunk on the feel of Sophie, scorching hot, and softer than silk. Sian flexes and scissors, stretching Sophie's muscles, seeking out the spots she remembers. Against her, Sophie's body is damp with sweat, slipping and sliding as her hips pump, riding out Sian's teasing the best she can. Her mouth falls open. Her eyes screw shut. Every sound she makes is a soft symphony, and Sian basks in it. This is all she's been thinking about, or trying not to think about since she first stumbled into Sophie outside the Takeaway, and, if she's being perfectly honest with herself, it's something her mind's been coming back to for years. Never mind that things ended tragically, or that Sophie broke her heart, and never mind that her subsequent relationships were both more functional and comparatively drama free. Sophie was still her first love. Theirs was, from the start, a passionate and turbulent affair. Between all the fighting, between all the wild ups and downs, Sian loved Sophie with every fiber of her being, and now that they've come together again Sian can feel the lost pieces of herself clicking back into place.

Sian presses their mouths together in a desperate kiss, and Sophie can't maintain it for long, but it's okay. Sophie's hands clutch helplessly at her back. Sian thrusts harder and faster, and Sophie's inner walls shiver, contracting, squeezing. It's different. It's better. Sian's practiced hands are sure and skilled, and Sophie, who pushes out her chest and throws back her head, who doesn't shyly slide under the top sheet to cover herself, is a vision of the woman Sian always imagined she would be, with sweaty hair stuck to her face and neck, with her bottom lip pinched white between her teeth, with her collected confidence and her maturity and her unapologetic sexuality.

Sian experiences a wave of emotion so strong it chokes her. Somebody else molded Sophie into this creature. Somebody else touched this body and made her sing. Sian hates it. She hates the very idea of it.

She curls her fingers deep inside and feels Sophie clench around her with feral satisfaction.

"Come for me, Soph," she breathes.

Sophie's eyes fly open, hazy and filled with stars. Her chest is heaving and her brow is slick. Sian wants to lick it clean. She wants to leave her mark on every inch of Sophie's body. This was supposed to be hers. All of this was supposed to be hers. She curls her fingers again and Sophie pitches forward, biting into Sian's shoulder to stifle her cries. The bed rocks with the force of Sian's thrusts. She tangles a hand in Sophie's hair, holding her fast, forcing their lips together for a breathless kiss. Sophie moans into Sian's mouth. Sian's wrist has begun to ache and her arm is starting to cramp, but she keeps going until she can feel Sophie's muscles shivering.

"I- oh god- Sian…" Sophie's body has begun to shake all over. "Sian-"

"What, Soph?"

"I- I- I-"

"What, Soph?

Sophie's eyes roll back into her head.

Her body seizes and locks up, going stiff. Sian rushes to clamp a hand over Sophie's mouth as Sophie cries out, trembling violently from head to toe. Sian holds her tight while she rides it out, clenching around Sian's fingers, whimpering in Sian's ear. Each breath seems to rattle up from the very bottom of her lungs, and when Sian withdraws her hand, Sophie's remaining strength ebbs. She slides bonelessly from Sian's arms onto her back, a veritable puddle of sweaty limbs.

"All right?" Sian asks, panting.

Sophie offers a single, languid nod, but she doesn't open her eyes. She doesn't appear to have the capacity for anything other than slow, measured breaths.

Exhausted, but exhilarated, Sian flops down beside her and stares at the ceiling, letting her feverish body cool. She's drenched in sweat, and she's flying. Nothing's felt so completely satisfying in ages.

"Fucking hell," she rasps, dragging a hand through her hair, "boys just don't flamin' cut it for me."

Sophie stirs beside her, finally showing signs of life.

"What do you mean 'boys'," she croaks. "Have you gone back to lads? "

"Er, no, definitely not." Sian snorts softly. "I think I've finally learned my lesson."

"Better 'ave," Sophie mumbles, shivering from the force of an aftershock.

Sian watches hungrily. "Jesus, Soph. You've picked up a bit more confidence over the years, haven't ya?"

"Speak for yourself. I feel like a leaky faucet over here."

Sian flashes a cheeky grin. "Yum."

Sophie covers her face. "Flamin' hell, don't get me goin' again. I've got a favour to return."

Sian had all but forgotten the steady pounding between her legs, but at Sophie's words she becomes uncomfortably aware of it again.

"Think we should put a sock on the door?" Sian jokes, as she detects the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Eh, Sophie! Sian! Are you like, decent in there?" Rosie's voice carries in from the hall. "I'd like to get a change of clothes if you don't mind! Some of us have actual places to be today!"

Sophie rolls her eyes and reaches for the sheet. "Get lost, Rosie!"

"I'm coming in, you little slag, and I'd better not get a show!"

The doorknob turns and Sophie scrambles for her jumper. Sian dives under the sheet.

"Oh, god, it smells like a strip club in here!"

Sian peeks over the top of the sheet and spies Rosie stood in the doorway with a manicured hand over her nose, glaring around the room as if it had personally offended her.

"Is this what you god-botherers get up to on Sundays?" she says, snorting derisively. "What would Jesus say? I mean, look at the state of this place!"

"Rosie, get the hell out!" Sophie chucks a pillow at her sister's head.

"Oi! Watch it, you cow!"

Sally's voice carries up from the kitchen. "Rosie? Sophie? What's all the yelling about?"

Sophie makes a throat slitting motion at Rosie who grins and turns her head toward the door. "Nothing, Mom! Just a bit of harmless banter between us girls!"

"All right, well keep it down, you two! I'm trying to listen to the news!"

"Did you hear that, sis?" Rosie says, delighted. "Mom says to keep it down up here."

Sophie growls. "Rosie, I swear to god-"

"Oh, relax, drama queen!" Rosie shuts the door behind her and putters over to the wardrobe. "I'm not gonna tell her. Here, Sian."

She tosses a baggy t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts at the bed, and Sian reaches for them gratefully.

"Thanks, Rosie."

"Don't mention it, babe."

"Well, you're in here now," Sophie says crossly. "So, you can get your stuff and go."

"Um, I don't think so!" Rosie flounces down on her bed and flips her hair. "Tell me everything, you two! When did you decide to get back together? Was it last night?"

Sophie blushes furiously. "Rosie!"

"What? I'm just excited for you guys! I always did think you made a proper good couple. I mean, Sophie was totally gutted when you left, Sian. She moped around for ages!"

Sian, who has wriggled into the borrowed shirt and shorts by now, emerges from under the sheet in time to save Sophie the embarrassment of trying to explain.

"We haven't like, talked about anything yet," she says, evenly. "It's a bit early, yeah."

At this, Rosie sobers significantly. "Right, so like, just feeling it out then?"

"Summat like that," Sian says, glancing at Sophie.

Sophie purses her lips and keeps quiet. Her mortified expression says it all.

"Totally responsible, that," Rosie says, nodding, "but if you do decide to make a proper go of it, you have my support all the way."

"Thank you," Sian says, offering a smile, then turns to Sophie and plants a kiss on her cheek. "Speaking of responsible though, I'd better go, babe."

"What?" Sophie faces around, wide eyed. "But we're not finished- you know," she makes a motion with her hands, "discussing things!"

Rosie wrinkles her nose. "Ew."

"I know, but me dad and Emma will home soon, and if I'm not in the house and properly showered by then it'll be worse than the Spanish Inquisition."

"Again," Rosie says, "ew?"

"Oh, shut up, Rosie!" Sophie snaps.

Rosie holds up her hands and mimes zipping her lips.

Sian gestures at her clothes. "Do you mind if I borrow these?" she says to Rosie, who shakes her head.

"They're Sophie's, ask her."

"It's fine," Sophie says, "take them. Although I think you'll look a bit touched in the head tottering about in heels and gym shorts."

"I've got my coat, no one'll see." Sian rises from the bed and clambers over Sophie, pausing to place a sweet, parting kiss on her lips. "I'll call you later, yeah?"

"Yeah, all right," Sophie breathes, too dazed even to bark at Rosie's cooing.

She only smiles softly and waves as Sian grabs her things and makes her way out the door.

"I am so getting the deets out of you, little sis," Sian hears, as she descends the stairs.

She feels a pang of nostalgia in her chest. She missed Rosie Webster.

Truthfully, she missed them all.

. . .

. . .

"So, you've gotten back with your crazy ex, is that it?"

Emma clears her throat uncomfortably and excuses herself from the table, mumbling something about fetching a drink.

"She's not crazy, Dad."

"Christ, well, she certainly had me fooled, what with all that Bible nonsense, and the running away, and then that wedding-"

"Dad!"

Vinny sighs and sets his fork down on the plate. He looks tired, Sian observes, peering at her across the table, scrutinizing her with a furrowed brow as though she might, under observation, give up some of her secrets. Emma returns to the table and sets a bottle of lager in front of each of them.

"I'm just sayin', that family's trouble."

"Oh, worse than ours?" Sian snipes. "Yeah, right."

"What your father means is he's concerned for ya," Emma says, as calmly as a foreign language translator. "He doesn't want to see you get hurt again."

Sian blinks and turns back to him. "Is that true, Dad?"

He glares at both them for a moment, then relents with a solemn nod. "Aye. It's true."

"Well, why didn't ya just say so in first place?"

He runs his hands over his face. "I'm not the best with me words sometimes, you know that."

Sian huffs. "Right"

"Look, Sian, I never did like that Webster girl. I thought she was a bad influence on ya."

Sian scoffs and takes a sip of her lager. "Yeah, well, you may 'ave been right about that."

"So what about now then, eh? What you doin' back with her after what she did?"

"Well, it's different now."

"Different how?" he demands, and Sian rolls her eyes. "No, I'm serious, all right? I'll hear you out. I want to know."

"Is he being honest with me, Emma?" Sian teases, turning to her new step-mother. "Could you translate for me?"

Emma laughs. "Oh, aye. Quite serious, I'm afraid."

Vinny mutters something under his breath and takes a healthy swig of his beer, but he doesn't retaliate, and that's something. Sian drops her smile and clears her throat, in truth struggling quite a bit to explain.

"It's different because we are," she says, cautiously, testing out the words on her tongue. "We're not kids anymore, and it's not got to be a battle every day just to be together if that's what we want to do."

Her dad's eyes dart away, a quiet sign of recognition at his own guilt in the matter.

"I still love her, Dad," Sian says, beseeching. "Please understand. I don't know what any of this means right now, and it all might turn out to be a big mistake in the end, but I can't let it lie."

"I don't want to see you get hurt, Sian."

"I know."

"But…" he glances at Emma, who nods in encouragement. "I trust ya. I know you can take care of yourself."

Tears spring to Sian's eyes. She gets up from her chair and rounds the table, drawing her father into gentle hug.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention, eh? Just be careful."

"I will. Promise."

. . .

. . .

"Um, are you sure about this?" Sophie asks, peering down at her ticket.

She stands hand in hand with Sian on the train platform at Piccadilly Station, purse and bag slung over her shoulder. The clouds that plagued them all weekend have finally parted, giving way to warm, yellow sunlight. Sophie's dressed herself simply in a t-shirt and black denim shorts, an old, plaid flannel tied around her waist, something probably borrowed from Tim or her father. A pair of pink, canvas trainers completes the look. Sian wants to jump her bones right there in public, but guesses the church group at the end of the platform might not appreciate it. Sophie, for her part, seems oblivious to Sian's perving. She's never been particularly tall, and without a pair of heels to compensate, Sian towers a whole 10 centimeters over her. She'd have to tilt Sophie's head up to kiss her. The thought sends a shiver of excitement running up her spine. How there was ever a time before Sian knew she was gay is a mystery for the ages.

"Sian," Sophie starts again, somewhat nervously, "I said are you sure? Because this is a big step and you don't have to-"

"I'm sure," Sian says.

She leans over and kisses Sophie's temple, who blushes prettily. Her grip tightens on Sian's fingers for just a moment before easing again. She's been fidgety all morning, and it took Sian the totality of a tense breakfast with Sally, Kevin, Rosie, and Tim to realise Sophie was only scared.

"You don't think we're taking things a bit fast?" Sophie asks, biting her lip.

"No." Sian grins at her. "You're visiting for a week, not agreeing to be my wife."

"Oh, well that's a relief," Sophie says drily. "I am excited though to see your flat. Is that weird?"

"No weirder than all of this," Sian replies, looking around the station.

Sophie nods absently, vanishing into her thoughts. Sian quickly follows suit, and a comfortable silence washes over them as they wait together for the train. When at last it arrives and they are allowed to find their seats, Sophie lets go of Sian's hand only long enough to stow her luggage before intertwining them again. She's been glued to Sian's side all morning, constantly touching, seeking contact. Sian is glad for it. It makes her think that maybe this wasn't such a crazy idea after all. Maybe they _were_ just the right people at the wrong time.

Maybe this is the right time.

"Soph," Sian says, as the train begins to move.

Sophie turns away from the window. "Yeah?"

"I really am glad you ran into me at the takeaway."

Sophie tilts her head to one side. "You were planning to avoid me the whole time, weren't ya?"

"Yeah, I was." Sian lowers her eyes. "Not proud of meself."

Sophie squeezes Sian's hand. "Maybe we were meant to run into each other. Maybe it was like-"

"Oh, don't say 'miracle', yeah."

"I wasn't!"

Sian rolls her eyes, but says, "yeah, you were," with such great affection that Sophie grins and pulls her into a kiss.

"I can't wait to spend a week with you," she whispers.

"Yeah," Sian replies, heart thumping, "me neither."

. . .

. .

.


End file.
